


Drowning In My Thirst

by wordswordswords7



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Best Friends Stevie Budd & David Rose, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, David Rose is a Good Person, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engaged David and Patrick, M/M, Meet the Family, Panic Attacks, Patrick Brewer Deserves Nice Things, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswordswords7/pseuds/wordswordswords7
Summary: David is intent on making a good first impression on Patrick's cousins, and of maintaining Marcy and Clint's good opinion of him. But it's the first time Patrick's been home since moving to Schitt's Creek and coming out to his family, and tensions are running high. For David, every inch of effort has been made to ensure this goes smoothly for Patrick, but what he isn't expecting is what it feels like to suddenly be a part of a family so different from the Roses.
Relationships: Clint Brewer/Marcy Brewer, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 85
Kudos: 452





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fudging with the canon timeline slightly to give more time for the engagement in general. Basically canon-compliant up until the end of Season 5.

**CHAPTER 1**

The Brewer’s house was just like the people that inhabited it and the opposite of every home David had ever known: cosy, tidy, and unassuming. The red brick two-story structure stood sturdy against the world around it, framed by wizened oak trees and wrapped in a well-worn porch made for passing time slowly with a good book and a hot tea. David soaked it in, feeling its warmth from where he sat in the car.

The house itself sat at the end of the sparse street on the edge of town, and to one side the horizon was a tableau of far reaching, harvested corn fields ending at a neighbouring farmhouse and barn. The sun was currently dipping behind a small copse of trees further in the distance.

“David? Are you listening?”

His eyes slipped back over to the house and he couldn’t look away from the navy blue door as it opened to reveal Marcy Brewer’s bottomless smile and Clint’s relaxed wave. 

“Mhmm,” he replied a little absently, “I packed the extra boxes of tea. They’re in the trunk.”

He had packed the tea carefully, counted every package three times to make sure he had enough for each of Patrick’s cousins’ wives. There were organic beard oil and shaving cream for the men—choices David had decreed were _very_ gender-biased (Patrick drank tea and had no beard after all), but had packed them up diligently, determined to make a good first impression. 

Patrick let out a shaky breath and David finally tore his eyes away from the house to look at him. His lips were pressed in a pale, thin line and he was jostling a leg nervously.

“Hey,” David said, grabbing Patrick’s hand. “This is going to be great.”

Patrick gave a little nod and glanced over to David. 

“It’s just...what if it’s not great?” he asked in a small, pained voice. “What if they aren’t as cool with it as they’ve let on?”

He’d been in touch with the rest of his family not long after coming out to his parents. As far as David understood it, while there had been a fair bit of surprise at the news, nothing untoward had been said directly to Patrick. 

Still…

“It’s going to be great,” he repeated firmly as much for Patrick’s benefit as for his own. “And if it’s not, then I’ll be here and we can deal with it together.”

Patrick took a deep breath and kissed David on the temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As if buoyed by a new sense of determination, Patrick got out of the car leaving David to follow at a slower pace. He was taking his time, hoping to keep his anxious energy to himself now and for the duration of their stay. It was just for Thanksgiving weekend, and then David would be able to breath again. It was his first time visiting Patrick’s hometown, his first time meeting anyone in the family beyond Marcy and Clint. And it was the first time Patrick had been back since coming out. Coming back with a fiance was sure to get the Brewer Cousins talking. It seemed imperative that David try and to keep his own nerves to a minimum; to be the pillar of support that Patrick so clearly needed him to be. To be a good representative of the life Patrick had built in his absence from his family.

David couldn’t quite let down his defences entirely, though. He had felt them rise the moment they’d entered the small town, and had silently prayed that this place would be different the way Schitt’s Creek had been different. Less blindly conservative, more accepting. More the exception, less the rule. He had met small-world country boys before in his past life, after all. He wasn’t altogether optimistic now—even if these ones were supposedly close enough to be Patrick’s brothers. 

Moving to the back of the car, David popped the trunk.

“Patrick! Oh, I’m so happy you’re _home_.”

“It’s so good to see you, son.”

He peeked around to see Marcy wrapping her arms around Patrick’s shoulders, and couldn’t help but smile despite his building apprehension. The tension that had been coiled down Patrick’s spine for the better half of the week seemed to seep away in Marcy’s arms. David turned back to the task at hand, pulled out their bags, and started to unload the boxes of Brewer Cousin peace offerings. Placing them on top of Patrick’s upright suitcase, David was pulling out the wine for Marcy and Clint when he heard his name.

“David? Leave the bags for a second and come let me see you, sweetheart.”

He felt the heat rising to his cheeks as he closed the trunk and walked up to the porch toward Patrick’s parents. He couldn’t explain his sudden awkwardness. They weren’t _really_ strangers anymore—maybe it was just that when they’d met face-to-face at the party the adrenaline of protecting Patrick had left little room for worrying over himself. And in the following months, the odd phone call here or video chat there was separation enough for them not to pick up on all of David’s faults that he wouldn’t be able to hide in person. 

Now, he stood before his future in-laws with an uneasy smile and was about to say hello when Marcy reached up and opened those loving arms wide for him to fall into. He almost let himself do it too, was so damn tempted, but a lifetime of cold detachment from human interaction, in general, made him stiff. The select few genuine hugs between him and his own family in the last few years could hardly prepare him for Marcy. When she hugged him, he felt his body tense and tried to give her his most gracious smile, but that felt wrong too.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” he said into her hair, willing her to hear the honesty in that, and she squeezed him a little harder.

If she noticed his reticence she didn’t let on, and instead gave his cheek a soft and motherly pat when he pulled away from her. 

“Hello, David,” Clint said with a grin, reaching out a hand.

His wrist felt weak under Clint’s firm shake.

David took a step back so that he was at Patrick’s side, and slipped his arm around his fiance’s like he so often did. Patrick pulled away but gave his elbow a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s grab those bags, David,” he said and retreated back down to the car.

* * *

They’d arrived later in the evening than they’d planned, hitting bad traffic along the 401 a few hours earlier. So that by the time David had unpacked their bags in the spare room (Patrick’s old bedroom, though not much remained of it), it was already eight o’clock and dinner was going to be a late one. On top of the drive and the general anxiety, David found that despite his best efforts it had become impossible to relax.

Sitting around the kitchen table with the others now, nursing a glass of red wine, it occurred to him—perhaps belatedly—that this was a setting he had never actually been in before: passing by the hours with a loving, functional family in a home brimming with a lifetime of normal memories. Just sitting around, enjoying each other’s company. 

No one had ever stolen their mother’s Quaaludes in this house. No one had ever self-medicated and hidden away from the world in a shoe closet here. There was no pool house for a school friend to OD in, and no eight-year-old had ever discovered himself left alone and forgotten for three days on Marcy and Clint’s watch. David was suddenly overwhelmed by the normalcy of the scene around him, afraid that if he joined in the conversation he wouldn’t be able to suck in enough breath to stay conscious.

Patrick was talking enough for both of them, anyway. And David tried to outwardly look interested in his fiance and father-in-law’s animated conversation about...a sport? He hadn’t been listening at all and hoped that no one noticed. 

“I hope this is still good,” Marcy was fretting, pulling the large casserole dish out of the oven where it had been reheating. “I started it this afternoon but it’s been sitting in the fridge.”

She placed the dish on the table between them and David knew that any attempt to appear like a normal human being was shot to hell. Marcy had made fucking enchiladas. Patrick reached out under the table and squeezed David’s knee, indicating that yes, this had been on purpose.

“It looks great,” he said honestly, earning himself another smile. 

And it did, it really did. Except that the minute the food touched his plate, David’s appetite was lost. Blame it on the nerves, blame it on the swell of affection for Marcy Brewer working its way up his throat, but David suddenly felt a devastating sense of nausea at the prospect of digging into this perfect meal. It made him homesick for the familiar maternal warmth of Adelina in a way he hadn’t thought about for most of his adult life. At that moment he understood that it was this comparison between Marcy and his old nanny that devastated him as much as it warmed him. Suddenly David was desperate for that love and care, and it was right there in front of him but he couldn’t make himself take it. Like some kind of masochist drowning in his own thirst and ignoring the cool glass of water well within reach.

He swallowed as much food as he could and spent the rest of dinner pushing what was left of it around on his plate. He knew Marcy was eyeing it, very probably unhappy with him. And he _saw_ Patrick frowning out of the corner of his eye but neither of them called him out for it.

“So, David,” Clint spoke up after the bulk of the conversation had been carried by Patrick and his parents. “Patrick tells us you were quite the jet setter back in the day. You must have plenty of stories from places we’ve probably never dreamt of going. Well, unless you count Cuba!”

They all chuckled at some old family joke he wasn’t in on, before turning to look at him expectantly. In the pointed silence, the only story that came to mind was the time he’d gotten his stomach pumped in Maui when he was twenty-three and had woken up to discover his friends had left him to jet off to the next hottest party three countries away. It was a low bar and no other anecdotal memories seemed to be any better for light dinner conversation.

“Oh, um, mhmm,” he narrowed his eyes, thinking and stalling. “Honestly, it was all pretty boring. I tended to just stick around New York before moving here.”

It was an unsatisfactory answer, one that didn’t leave room for more conversation, but it was the only one he had. When Patrick, whose hand had been a comfortable weight on his thigh, pulled away David knew it hadn’t been the right thing to say. David glanced his way and Patrick’s clenched jaw said it all.

Thinking that he ought to try and salvage their opinions of him, David was about to offer to help Marcy with the dinner dishes when she announced the chore was better left undone for the night.

“Let’s worry about the dishes tomorrow,” she yawned, glancing at the clock on the wall that read 10:00 PM. “I don’t know about you boys but I’m beat.”

* * *

By the time they got up to the spare room, David could tell that Patrick’s annoyance with him wasn’t going to stay unspoken for much longer. So he sat on the edge of the bed, fingers immediately going to work on his engagement rings, and decided to get the ball rolling himself.

“Is something wrong?”

Patrick turned to pull his flannel pyjama pants and a faded Blue Jays shirt out of the dresser where David had neatly unpacked them, but not before David could catch the quick eye-roll.

“I dunno, David,” he said tersely. “Is there?”

David sat back, eyes narrowed. He could feel his own irritation bubbling to the surface, despite himself.

“Um, no, _I’m_ fine. I’m only asking because you seem annoyed. But excuse me if it’s _my_ problem.”

This was not the place to start a fight, in Patrick’s childhood bedroom with their voices kept low so his parents wouldn’t hear them from two doors away. But David had been suppressing his anxieties over this visit for weeks since it had been suggested, and now that they were finally _in it_ he’d been doing his level best to be calm. To be the correct version of himself in front of the Brewers _for_ Patrick. It hurt to know he’d failed, and so in the privacy of their own company, David could almost feel his protective walls slamming into place.

Patrick still wasn’t looking at him, but he turned around and started to dress for bed with more frustrated energy than David thought was really called for.

“David, you’ve barely said two words to my parents since we got here. My mom spent all afternoon making you a special dinner and you hardly ate any of it. Then my dad tries to get to know you better and you can’t even try to carry a conversation with the man? It’s just…” he finally looked David in the eye, and David could feel the irritation and _disappointment_ aimed right at him. “...it’s just rude.”

It was a deliberate word choice. One that harkened back to a small, short-lived moment at the store two weeks ago, when David had lost his patience with some busy-body out-of-towner. The woman had been bombarding him with questions and he had _known_ —with that retailer’s sixth sense that Patrick so often claimed he had—that she wasn’t going to buy a damn thing. And so he’d cut the interaction short and left her to her own devices, mouth agape at his brisk departure. Patrick had followed him into the back room once she’d left (empty-handed) and had confronted him with barely contained annoyance.

“That was rude, David. Were you trying to make sure she told all her friends never to come here?”

And when David’s flippant answer hadn’t been adequate, Patrick had just thrown up his hands with a piqued “Unbelievable!” and the argument had ended there.

Now, he was giving him that same look and David couldn’t form a response fast enough. Patrick—toothbrush and toothpaste clenched in each fist—threw his hands up in defeat and headed out to the bathroom.

“Just...unbelievable.” 

By the time he came back, David was feigning sleep, his back to the room. He hadn’t brushed his teeth, hadn’t even washed his face. When Patrick climbed into bed next to him he didn’t pull David up against his chest like he usually did when they slept. David could feel the cold space between them like some impassable chasm. He bit the inside of his cheek hard.

“I’m just nervous,” he finally admitted to the darkness. “I’m trying my best.”

Patrick’s only response was a soft snore.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

David had eventually slept but it had been restless. In the end he lay awake, cataloguing the shadows of the unfamiliar room around him. Unable to fall back asleep in the early hours of the morning and unwilling to wake Patrick with his tossing and turning, David slipped out of the bed around 5:30 AM and escaped to the bathroom with a change of clothes. He took what solace he could in finally brushing his teeth and methodically moving through every step of his skincare routine. Then he stripped out of his sleeping clothes and pulled on one of his more subdued sweaters (the black and white striped Comme Des Garçons) over a pair of black jeans. Once that was done he fixed his hair and appraised his reflection.

He looked fine. Just...fine. Not too dramatic, borderline approachable even. He considered the rest of the clothing options he’d unpacked when they’d arrived yesterday. Mostly solid blacks or whites (no over-the-top patterns), warm knit stitching, and standard cuts. All clothes that he loved, sure, but outfits he had purposely put together for presenting a toned-down version of himself. The thought made him scowl. He was doing it to ease Patrick’s family into the idea of him, but it still felt like he was hiding a part of himself that he had not kept hidden since middle school. 

Sighing, he quietly returned his pyjamas and toiletries bag to the spare room, before softly padding down the stairs to the kitchen. The slumbering house was dark and he was unwilling to shock it into life by turning on lights. Thankfully, the pale white glow of some strategically placed LEDs from beneath the upper kitchen cabinets was enough for him to see by.

For a few minutes, all he did was lean against the island, unsure of how comfortable he should be making himself here. Would the Brewers care if he watched TV in their living room? Would they care if he rummaged through their cupboards for coffee, or pulled a book off one of their bookshelves to read?

His gut said no, of course not, but he still didn’t move. He couldn’t help but think over Patrick’s words the night before, about how he’d been rude. If that was how Patrick had interpreted his shyness and lack of appetite, what were Marcy and Clint thinking? Had they gone to bed, heard the waspish tiff coming from their son’s room, and concluded that maybe David wasn’t as right for their son as he’d seemed at the surprise party?

He could feel the overwhelming urge to cry building in his chest. Feeling stupid and exhausted, David wanted nothing more than to go back in time and hug Marcy Brewer properly, eat her food with gusto, and talk Clint’s ear off about what Japan was like in the winter. But he couldn’t and it felt like a colossal failure. He just needed to do something _right_.

Looking up, he spotted the dishes from last night’s dinner sitting in the sink. He could do this, he could fix this one thing. Finally pulling his body away from the island, David got to work washing. Would it surprise the Brewers to know that he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty? He didn’t _like_ it, but he wasn’t afraid. That he was well versed in the act of scrubbing and washing, despite his general “we had hired help for that” vibe? Did Patrick ever tell them that it was David who kept the apartment spotless, or who had an eagle eye for dust on the shelves at the Apothecary? Had he ever told Clint and Marcy that David was the kind of person who had cleaned his apartment in New York everytime the cleaning lady was due to come around? Or that whenever he joked about OCD tendencies, Patrick never laughed? Just gave him a wide-eyed look of unwavering concern.

Would it salvage their opinion of him if they did?

It occurred to David, halfway through washing that he didn’t know where anything belonged, so instead of trying and failing to find a home for every plate, glass, and pan, he laid a towel down on the counter for all the dishes that wouldn’t fit in the drying rack. And then he wiped down the stove, the island, and the kitchen table even though they didn’t need it. He did the same for the fridge and cupboard handles, just for something to do.

With that done, and the clock only reading 6:45, David leaned onto his elbows against the counter and turned his attention to the big bay window next to the table. It was still dark out and he could barely make out the oak tree there, let alone the fields that seemed to stretch on forever into the darkness. He stared, lost in thought, suddenly feeling unbearably homesick for the familiarity of his store, his town, and even for his own family. What he wouldn’t give for a dry insult from Stevie right about now.

“David, sweetheart, what are you doing up?”

“Oh!” he whipped around to see Marcy standing in the doorway, wearing her floral housecoat over a pair of striped pyjamas, and eyeing him with concern. 

He ran a knuckle under each eye, hoping she hadn’t noticed anything. Clearing his throat he said quietly, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

The kitchen was still dark, but Patrick’s mother looked every bit at home. A stark difference from David who stood across the room from her, thoroughly unsure of himself. Marcy pulled the lapels of her housecoat closer together to stave off the October chill. 

“Oh no, you’re fine dear. I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d come and…well it looks like you beat me to it.”

She gestured to David’s handiwork in the drying rack. He felt his shoulders inch up in unnecessary embarrassment. He hated feeling so out of place. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where anything went or I’d have put it all away…”

Marcy, seeming to sense his misplaced shame, broke the awkward tableau and shook her head. She closed the space between them and pulled his face down gently so she could kiss his cheek. His face burned at the contact.

“Don’t apologize! You’re a saint for washing them for me.” 

She set about filling a kettle and pulling out the fixings for tea. 

“Why don’t we let them air dry, hmm? We can sit and have a nice tea before our boys wake up.”

David desperately wanted coffee but he just nodded and sat down at the island while Marcy puttered around in companionable silence. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “You barely ate dinner last night.”

There was no hint of hurt feelings or anger in her voice but David’s mouth was rushing ahead with an explanation before his brain could truly formulate one. 

“I’m so sorry. It was honestly so good, and I know you really went out of your way to make it. I really did enjoy it, I was– I just–”

His voice, while still kept hushed for the benefit of the others still sleeping, had risen an impressive octave or two while he floundered. Marcy was staring at him with a look of confused surprise and she raised both hands in the way that Patrick so often did when he was defusing one of David’s spiraling rants.

“Sweetheart,” she interrupted with a bemused smile, “it’s okay that you weren’t hungry. I won’t hold it against you.”

David snapped his mouth shut and looked away. What was wrong with him? The kettle whistled to life and Marcy took it off the stovetop to pour them both a cup.

“How do you take it?” she asked, momentarily waylayed from her goal to feed him.

He never drank tea and couldn’t say, so he just echoed Patrick’s usual order. When that made Marcy look at him affectionately, he couldn’t help but return her smile. She slid his mug across the island.

“Thank you.”

“Now,” she said after taking a sip of her own tea, clearly determined, “as a mother, I don’t think I can let you leave this kitchen without having _something_ to eat.”

“Oh, um, you really don’t have to…”

Her eyes seemed to twinkle at him, reminding David again of Adelina all those years ago. “Nonsense. I can whip up some breakfast or we can just pick away at last night’s leftovers if you’d like.”

Marcy Brewer gave David the impression that Patrick had grown up hearing the words “a balanced breakfast” a lot, so he knew she was probably indulging him. But he was hungry, starving really, and craving the enchiladas he had barely been able to enjoy the night before.

“Leftovers would be wonderful, thank you,” he told her softly, belly warming at the satisfied smile she cast his way.

“So,” she hummed, as she put together a plate for each of them, “today’s the big day.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That you’re meeting the family.”

Oh right. David fiddled with his rings, unsure of how he was supposed to manage this if he hadn’t even been able to handle Patrick’s parents for one night.

“It’s alright if you’re nervous,” Marcy was saying. “I know exactly what it’s like coming into such a large family. On the Debeaux side it’s just me and my sister—and Patrick’s Gran of course. But Mary has lived on the East Coast since college, and well, let me just say I know joining the Brewer Clan can be overwhelming. And I know this must be especially hard on both of you under the circumstances. But these boys, they really do love Patrick like brothers. And I just know that they’re going to love you too.”

David looked at her and felt an affinity there. Still…

“I’m not exactly…”

Marcy was waiting expectantly. Was he actually about to do this? Bare his heart to this woman he really barely knew? The look of pure compassion in her eyes pushed him forward. He gestured to himself and gave a half-hearted shimmy.

“I’m not exactly the obvious choice,” he finished and tried to keep the shake out of his voice. “For Patrick, I mean. I’m sure whoever they’re expecting, it’s not...I just...I don’t think it’s me.”

She gave him a sad look and then came around to the other side of the island so that she could sit on the stool beside him and hold his hand in hers. 

“Is that why you’ve been so quiet?” she asked, and he found it impossible to look at her. “Oh, sweetheart. They just need to spend five minutes with the two of you to know how right you are together.”

He couldn’t help the burning behind his eyes.

“I just don’t want him to feel like the people he loves are judging his life. I can’t be the reason that might happen.”

Marcy let go of his hand only to gently pull his head down to her shoulder; a slightly awkward manoeuvre given their height difference even sitting down. She pulled him close and wrapped one arm around him, rubbing her hand in circles against his back. Sitting here with her seemed to break a dam within him, and David felt his chest shudder with his next breath, the tears no longer kept at bay.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “My family’s not like this...not _warm_ like this, I guess. It’s a lot, and it um—well it’s hitting me harder than I expected.”

“Oh David,” Marcy said gently, “we _are_ your family now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

When Patrick woke up alone, he was momentarily confused by David’s absence. That was until he remembered their argument from the night before.

“Dammit,” he muttered into his pillow.

He’d probably been a little harsh, he admitted to himself as he groped for his phone to check the time—and then did a double take to ensure he’d read it right. When had David ever gotten out of bed this early? It was barely seven o’clock…

Patrick was still annoyed, but the night’s sleep had taken the edge off. He was also self aware enough to know that a lot of his own frustration was the result of worry and anticipation for the day ahead of him. But was it so bad that he had wanted to be able to lean on his fiancé for support this weekend, instead of being unsure which version of David he had brought home to his family?

On top of that, David’s absence from bed added a layer of bewilderment to the whole situation. 

With a groan, Patrick got out of bed and made his way downstairs, careful to take the steps quietly so he didn’t wake his parents. His mom, in particular, had always been an incredibly light sleeper. She wasn’t sleeping though, apparently. Patrick heard the quiet murmur of her voice from the bottom of the stairs, and then he heard David drop a bombshell. 

“I just don’t want him to feel like the people he loves are judging his life. I can’t be the reason that might happen.”

Moving to stand in the doorway to the kitchen, he watched as David leaned into Marcy’s side—head on her shoulder. Their backs were to Patrick and they hadn’t heard him come down.

“I’m sorry,” David was saying tearfully. “My family’s not like this...not _warm_ like this, I guess. It’s a lot, and it um—well it’s hitting me harder than I expected.”

Patrick silently slipped back into the hallway, missing his mom’s response, and leaned against the wall. He suddenly felt winded, as though David’s admission had punched him in the chest, and he swallowed hard around the lump that had formed in his throat. He was such an asshole. There he’d been, accusing his fiancé of being rude to his family when David had been drowning under the otherness of the Brewers and the feeling of inadequacy. He couldn’t be more wrong, obviously. If anything, David being _David_ made Patrick feel more proud of himself than he’d felt most of his adult life. It killed him to think that David might have been spiralling about something so objectively untrue this whole time. And yet...how had Patrick not connected the dots?

The fact that David hadn’t turned to him for comfort at all yesterday was sign enough that he’d been keeping his anxieties to himself for Patrick’s benefit. Which just made him feel like even more of an ass.

Sighing, Patrick quietly slipped back up the staircase and made his way down again—louder this time and clearing his throat for good measure. He paused in the hall for a few breaths to give David some time to compose himself before turning into the kitchen. David, with his back still to Patrick, was giving his hands a shake (as if shaking out the tension) and Marcy was pulling another mug down from the cupboard. She gave him a smile that didn’t give away any of what Patrick had just walked in on.

“Morning sweetheart,” she said. “Tea?”

“Morning Mom,” he said, moving forward to give David’s shoulders a gentle squeeze and to kiss him on the top of the head. He didn’t respond beyond a mild hum, hands now gripped around a mug of...tea?

“Actually,” Patrick said slowly, “I think I’ll make a coffee.”

He rounded the island to kiss her on the cheek and moved about the kitchen to prepare the coffee. His hand hovered over the Keurig that he and Rachel had given his parents for Christmas a few years back—another stab of residual guilt—but a compliment from Marcy about David’s sweater spurred him forward and he pulled a coffee pod from the drawer beside the sink. Funny how after all this time, everything was exactly where he remembered it being. Except for the now clean dishes from dinner the night before. Another sign of David’s frenetic energy, poured into tidying and clawing at Patrick’s guilty heart. After a minute or two the Keurig beeped and he pulled the almost full mug away. In the absence of his typical order, David’s go-to coffee was surprisingly simple. Cream and sugar, _lots_ of sugar.

Patrick finally turned around and looked at David. He had his eyes on the leftover enchiladas he was eating and was listening intently to Marcy talk about her worries over finding a dress for their wedding in the handful of mediocre stores nearby. It was a clear effort to make aimless small talk on her part, but Patrick was grateful to her nonetheless. David’s eyes were still a little red and puffy but he looked otherwise composed, as if his early morning breakdown had never happened. He was very obviously _not_ looking at Patrick. 

Was he embarrassed that Patrick had walked in on them, or that he’d been having the conversation with Marcy at all? Probably both. Patrick rounded the island and sat beside David, deftly swapping their mugs when his mom wasn’t looking.

“You’ll look beautiful in whatever you buy, Mom. Don’t stress over it.”

Marcy just waved a dismissive hand at him, and laughed. Sliding his hand closer to David, Patrick held it palm up, aware that after his reaction the night before he had to let David come to him in his own time. For a horrible second David just sat there frozen, but then he set down his fork and slipped his hand into Patrick’s, fingers entwined. He cleared his throat.

“If you want, I can text you some links to a few stores you might have better luck with,” he said to Marcy tentatively, still not looking at Patrick. “You know, to help narrow down the search.”

Marcy beamed. “That would be so helpful, dear. Now, why don’t you two finish up your breakfast. I’m going to shower and get your father up. That man would sleep through his entire retirement if he could!”

She pushed a plate of leftovers in front of Patrick and then left the two men alone. The room was tense in her absence.

“David–”

“Patrick–”

David pulled his hand away and began fiddling with his rings. He opened his mouth to try again but Patrick held a hand up to stop him.

“I’m so sorry I snapped at you last night,” he said, hating the look of surprise on David’s face. “I’ve been anxious about this weekend, and I took it out on you. I didn't stop to ask if you might be feeling anxious too.”

He didn't want David to know he'd overheard his private conversation with Marcy, but Patrick was pretty sure a _good_ fiancé would have picked up on David's nerves way earlier than he had.

David pressed his lips together and looked up to the ceiling, giving his head a tiny shake. “Um, I—thank you. But yesterday…”

He couldn’t seem to find the words so Patrick reached over and touched his cheek, turning David’s head slowly so that he had to look Patrick in the eye.

“You weren’t being rude, I was being a jerk.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of David’s mouth but his whole demeanor still screamed _GUILT_. “I just want this all to go as smoothly as possible for you. And...this weekend isn’t about me so you– you know...you don’t need to worry about me. You have other things to focus on.”

“David, I like focusing on you. But thank you, I really appreciate it.”

David allowed himself to be kissed, and even leaned into it. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Patrick smoothed his hands down the front of David’s striped sweater. “You look nice today.”

He preened a little at that like Patrick knew he would.

“I thought you might wear that leopard print sweater, it’s one of my favourites.”

He’d seen him fold it into his suitcase the other day. He’d also seen him hem-and-haw before taking it out again.

David hesitated and then answered exactly how Patrick also knew he would. “I didn’t bring it. It just...it felt like a bit _much_.”

Patrick put both hands on either side of David’s face and pulled him into a slow and deep kiss, before breaking it and looking him squarely in the eyes.

“You could never be too much for me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Thanksgiving at the Brewer residence was a two-meal affair—lunch _and_ dinner. Lunch was a potluck provided by the guests while Marcy and Clint made the evening meal. This meant that an endless supply of aunts, uncles, cousins, and _children_ started streaming in around 11:30, and introductions and reconnections never seemed to stop. Patrick had even forewarned David that some of the family would probably stay until eight or nine at night.

After the first handful of people had arrived, Patrick had parked David and himself against the kitchen island so that people could come and find _them_. Despite David’s assurances that Patrick didn’t need to worry about him, Patrick seemed to sense the constant hum of anxiety that David was trying to force down in the presence of his very large family. As more and more people found them at their perch in the kitchen, Patrick never once let go of his hand.

Maybe it was a sign of self preservation too, because while he’d started the afternoon off looking tense and smiling a bit too forcibly, by the time the fifth or sixth person greeted Patrick with a warm hug and a heartfelt _“we’ve missed you”_ he seemed to settle ever so slightly. The hold he’d kept on David’s hand had begun to relax too, even if David couldn’t help but grip it back.

Aside from Patrick, Marcy had also been a surprising source of comfort all morning after David’s embarrassing breakdown earlier. She hadn’t mentioned it once or been caught staring at him sadly (like he had definitely caught Patrick doing, and what the _hell_ was that about?), and she’d also pulled back _just enough_ with the hugs and cheek kissing. In fact, David was certain that Marcy Brewer had somehow developed some sort of internal gauge that let her know when he needed tactile reassurance, and when he wanted to keep everyone away from him with a yardstick. Which was arguably always, regardless of his whereabouts or circumstances.

Turned out, that was actually impossible with the sheer amount of people currently in the house.

Clint, it would seem, had three brothers, three sister-in-laws, four nephews with four wives, and four grand-nephews with twins on the way. It was a far cry from David’s entire extended family, which included one errant aunt, no cousins, and no living grandparents on either side. Not to mention the general strength of the Brewer XY chromosomes were nothing if not alarming.

“Nice to meet the mystery man at last!” Clint’s sister in-law Marge exclaimed, a little too emphatically, reaching to swallow David in his eighth unsolicited hug by a stranger that day. He forced himself not to shudder.

“Hey, Aunt Marge,” Patrick said, distracting her away from David as much as possible. “Mom tells me Noodles is doing a lot better these days?”

“Well what kind of silly dog eats three _whole_ pine cones?!”

Marge’s husband Richard smiled companionably at David and clapped him on the shoulder roughly. “Good to meet you, son.”

“You as well,” David replied through a semi-forced smile, massaging the offended shoulder.

He was about to turn his attention to Hallie (wife of...shit, Aiden or Brandon? Or was it Marcus?) when a booming voice practically made him jump out of his skin.

“The prodigal Patticakes hath returned!”

“What the fuck?” it came out as an involuntary breathy whisper and he hoped no one had heard it, but Hallie snorted and gave David a sympathetic (and long-suffering) look.

“Brad!” Patrick’s face split into a grin and he finally released David’s hand to let himself be pulled into a bear hug from the giant of a man who had just entered the kitchen.

“We want to think Brad was adopted from Sasquatches,” Hallie leaned into David’s side, giving his shoulder a friendly bump. “It’s unconfirmed, but his mom is 5’2” and you won’t find a Brewer man over 5’9”.”

David found himself laughing easily for the first time since he’d arrived. She was joking about the illegitimacy of Brad’s parentage of course. He may not have the height of a Brewer but he certainly had the face of one. 

“Marge _claims_ he and Marcus are twins, so the only other option is that he was switched at birth.”

David had to do a double take. Marcus had left the room, but if David remembered which cousin he was correctly, he’d been far more Patrick-shaped than Brad-shaped. He glanced over to Hallie’s round belly (twins, _jesus_ ) and pushed the stool a few inches in her direction. “Do you wanna, um…”

Her smile was easy and she took the seat gratefully. 

“So, Patticakes is a...a thing? Apparently?”

“Oh yes,” she laughed at his discomfort, but kindly as a fellow outsider who was used to navigating Brewerisms. “Patrick has the pleasure of being not only the youngest but the smallest Brewer this side of thirty. Which means he obviously needed to have the most embarrassing childhood nickname.”

“Like the little runt of the pack,” David said fondly, watching as Patrick (indeed the shortest of his cousins) continued to rough house with Brad despite Marcy’s cries to _take it outside for heaven’s sake_.

“Just you wait till the kids get riled up,” Hallie replied, with a knowing grin. “No one wrestles as well as Uncle Patrick.” 

“Well, when he has the advantage of height…”

As if on cue, a cacophony of high pitch squeals rang through the house and four boys of varying ages launched themselves at his fiance and Brad, seemingly from out of nowhere. It was evidently the straw that broke the camel’s back however, and Marcy had had enough.

“Okay boys, _out!_ Out of my kitchen!” Little force that she was, Marcy somehow man handled the roiling bundle of rough housing Brewers out the patio door and into the backyard.

Aiden and Brandon (presumably?) followed them out, beers in hand, along with someone’s wife. Allison? God there were so many of them. David fingered his glass of wine and took a step in their direction but stopped, feelinging awkward in Patrick’s sudden absence. Should he follow? He didn’t really _want_ to…but at the same time, who would whisk Patrick away if things got uncomfortable?

Hallie was rising from her seat beside him. “Come on, you. Seems to me you’ll have a better time with me and Marcus than with those neanderthals.”

He reluctantly moved to follow Hallie and considered the last forty-five minutes. So far, aside from everyone being a little over-enthusiastic about seeing Patrick again and meeting David—in that overt “I’m trying not to make this awkward” kind of way that inevitably made everything awkward—it all had felt...okay. No one had said anything questionable, and they had barely blinked at David being, well David. Patrick would probably be fine on his own. If it weren’t for the fact that this whole get-together was miles out of his comfort zone _aside_ from bracing for general same-sex backlash or widespread dissapointment in Patrick’s spousal choices, David might have even started to let himself relax. Key words being _might_ _have_.

Whereas the Brewer’s kitchen opened onto the dining room, Hallie led him to the living room which was down the hall near the front of the house, and offered enough separation from the dull roar of the aunts and uncles who had been left to chat around the table. Scattered around the sectional and arm chairs were two of Patrick’s sister-in-laws and Marcus (he’d been right about which cousin he was but as for being Brad’s twin, well that was a total mind fuck). David instantly liked his calm and button-down demeanour, so different from the bro-vibes he had gotten from the others. Not that they hadn’t been friendly, just... _bro-ey._ Marcus was like some kind of anthropological missing link that connected the calm business major part of Patrick to the sports-loving goof who was currently wrestling with four boys and a grown man outside. 

The women introduced themselves as Kate and Melanie, and David instantly got a small town mean girl impression from the latter. 

“So David,” Marcus said, when they were all sitting down. “Patrick tells us you two have a pretty impressive store back home.”

“Right, in _Schitt’s_ Creek—god, what a name.” Melanie groaned with an exaggerated eye roll to Kate, who’s smile turned a little flat at being addressed.

David flashed her a tight and thoroughly fake smile before focusing his attention back on Marcus. “I um, don’t know about _impressive_ but, uh, yes we’re very proud of it. We actually…” he cast around for the boxes Patrick had brought down that morning for this very purpose and found them tucked underneath the piano bench. “We brought you all a little something…”

He pulled out tea for the ladies and handed Marcus the facial hair products nervously. Hallie all but melted over the packaging (“Shut up, this is _so_ nice!”) and Marcus smelled the sandalwood shaving cream appreciatively. Kate thanked him kindly, but Melanie looked over her box of lavender tea dubiously and tossed it onto the coffee table with a disinterested _thanks_ , earning herself a glare from Hallie.

“I’m more of a coffee person,” Melanie clarified airily. 

This bitch...but David held his tongue and turned back to the civilized members of the family. Eager to fill the awkward silence, he stumbled his way through Socializing Basics 101, hands gesturing a bit more wildly than he meant for them too.

“So, um...what does everyone do– for like...a living, I guess?”

Marcus opened his mouth to respond but Melanie barrelled forward as if David hadn’t spoken at all. “You know, you might be the first gay guy this town has ever seen, well except for Patrick I guess.”

The others simply stared at her.

“Mel,” Hallie said in a halted but warning tone. “What are you doing?”

“What? I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever met a gay guy that came out of Watford.”

“Seems unlikely, and I’m not gay,” David bit out, which only seemed to confuse the room.

Melanie snorted. “Excuse me, but how is that possible?”

“I’m pan,” he gave her his haughtiest glare. She was so far beneath him, future sister-in-law or no. “ _Pan_ sexual. Google it.”

She actually laughed, and David sat rimrod straight as the homophobic shoe he’d been dreading for weeks _finally_ dropped. At least it was being directed at him and not Patrick. David had had plenty of practice dealing with bigots far worse than this small town has-been who’d peaked in highschool, and apparently thought French tip press ons were the height of glamour. As much as he could shelter Patrick from that though, he would.

He waited to see if the others were going to join in or steer clear of this. If even one more person added fuel to this fire, David was ready to bundle Patrick and their luggage up and leave immediately. It felt invigorating, almost good, to be able to offer protection like this when Patrick was so often the one sheltering David from the world. The others remained blissfully silent though, as David and Melanie engaged in a sort of standoff with her holding back laughter at his steely glare. He didn’t know what he might have said next in the heat of the moment if the crying of a child from the kitchen hadn’t broken the silence.

“That sounds like one of yours,” Hallie said tersely, staring Melanie down with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Melanie laughed again, unfazed, and stood up to leave but not before they heard her say, “Jesus Christ, _pan_ sexual. What’s next?”

Again with the weighty silence. 

The buzz of righteous anger slowly dissipated and David looked anywhere but at the others sitting around him, fisting at the sleeves of his sweater to release the tension. He wanted to scream. Or leave. Fuck, he really just wanted to go home and shit talk townies with Stevie over a bottle of whiskey and a good joint.

“I’m a radiologist.”

David whipped his head around to look at Marcus. He was looking strangely determined.

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s what I do, I’m a radiologist. Hallie too, that’s how we met. At the hospital in Strathroy. That’s what we do for a living.”

Hallie seemed to snap to. “Yeah, and Kate here...”

Kate jumped at the sound of her name, caught like a deer in the headlights. “What? Oh, uh...daycare. Brad and I own a daycare.”

David nodded slowly, his brain taking its sweet time to catch up with what was happening. “That sounds...sticky.”

He hadn’t meant to say that exactly, but it broke the tension and had everyone laughing with Kate confirming that, yes, it was a very sticky job. The conversation continued on like that, and David fell into an easy-ish silence, letting the others carry it while he jumped in whenever something was directed at him. Soon, the sharpness of what had transpired with Melanie began to ebb away until David felt he could breathe around it. After a while, Kate left to get a drink and Marcus stepped out to grab Hallie something to snack on. 

“I’m really sorry about Mel,” Hallie immediately broached the subject through gritted teeth. “She’s not always the easiest person to be around, but that was especially uncalled for.”

David hummed in agreement and then hesitated before asking, “Do I need to worry about her saying something to Patrick? I can take it, but I’ve been doing this a lot longer than him.”

The look she gave him was one of appraisal, like she was impressed with what she was seeing. “No, god no. Mel is way too afraid of Marcy to try shit like that with Patrick, especially today. Hell, if Brandon had heard her say any of that just now, she’d be in the dog house. She might still end up there if Marcus is having words with him about it right now.”

When David didn’t look convinced, she pressed on.

“Honestly, don’t worry. I think Patrick disappearing for almost two years was enough of a scare for all of us. He really left a gap, and Marcy and Clint were devastated. It was really hard to watch. Nobody wants to go through that again by making him feel like he can’t come back here for family stuff, that he’s not welcome. That _you_ aren’t welcome.”

David chewed at the inside of his cheek. “ _Mel_ didn’t seem too concerned.”

He said her name like it was a bad taste in his mouth.

“Well,” it was Hallie’s turn to hesitate, “she happens to be good friends with Ra– with Patrick’s ex.”

“Rachel.”

“Yeah, Rachel. So she may be harbouring some feelings that aren’t exactly hers to harbour.”

“Right.”

“The rest of us are just happy that Patrick is happy. You both have a place here, please believe that.”

They sat with that for a moment before Patrick himself wandered in and sat on the arm of the couch next to David. “Hello you two, what are we talking about?”

“Oh nothing much, _Patticakes_ ,” Hallie replied without missing a beat, shooting him a very wicked, very Stevie-like grin.

Hallie, it seemed, was very good people.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

There were no more run-ins with Melanie for the rest of the day, though David couldn’t quite shake the effect she’d had on him, as much as he wanted to. What had just been an undercurrent of irritation largely smoothed out by the more amicable Brewers, had developed into jittery restlessness over the course of the afternoon. So much so that he went out of his way to keep Patrick away from her while they were together, and for the most part Patrick seemed content to stick to David’s side. At first David thought he was going along with it to ensure that David was okay, but Patrick’s sweaty palms and nervous laugh was enough to show that he still wasn’t completely relaxed either. 

David was torn as they sat on the back deck watching the kids play on the lawn and chatting with Brad, Kate, Aiden and his wife Allison. The two of them were sitting on the bench swing holding hands, and normally he would tuck himself into Patrick’s side, or curl around his shoulders and play with his hair to ease his mind. But those were things he did at home—things that nobody looked twice at or questioned in Schitt’s Creek. Here though…

As much as they seemed open and amiable to David and Patrick’s relationship, _knowing_ it was a thing and _seeing_ it be a thing often resulted in two very different levels of acceptance. Would the cousins be bothered by it? Both Marcy and Hallie’s assurances didn’t feel quite as solid as they had earlier in the day, which was silly but David couldn’t help but get caught up in the worry again. He felt like he was going crazy, second guessing things more often than he normally would. This whole weekend was just messing with his head.

As far as light PDA went, when had he ever cared before? When had he ever buckled like this? And it wasn’t like Brad wasn’t adorably braiding the end of Kate’s long ponytail or Allison wasn’t absentmindedly turning Aiden’s wedding band around and around on his finger as she held his hand. If they could do it… 

Sensing his apprehension, Patrick leaned closer and pulled David into his side, planting a light kiss on his temple. Brad grinned openly, but otherwise no one batted an eye. David felt Patrick relax next to him and even the tight ball of anxiety in his own gut seems to unwind by a fraction. He had to admit the day had been mostly fine, but was it so bad of him to wish that it could be over already? So that he could just crawl into bed and wrap his long limbs around Patrick’s warm body, just the two of them without the constant chatter of _people_ or his own self-critical thoughts?

They still had to make it through dinner, dessert, and nightcaps first. David stole a glance at Patrick, who was laughing at something Allison had said. He looked so content and an unquestionable truth sank into David’s bones just at the sight of him.

He would sit through a thousand Brewer family weekends without complaint if it made Patrick happy.

* * *

Once Patrick had realized that morning why David was acting so strangely, it was glaringly obvious (to Patrick at least) that he’d been trying his damndest to seem relaxed the whole rest of the day. Which was pretty impressive since David was rarely relaxed even when he wasn’t being forced into high stakes social situations. And while he wasn’t exactly succeeding, Patrick was pretty sure no one else—except maybe his mom—had really noticed. So if Patrick had spent the whole afternoon at David’s side, it was as much to calm his fiance’s nerves as his own.

Not that he really had anything to worry about. The guys had been just as accepting in person as they’d been over text and FaceTime. Maybe a little apprehensive about David’s lack of interest in sports when it had come up earlier in the day, but Brad had gone through that too when he’d started dating Kate who shared the same level of disdain for them as David did. And Patrick had only needed to field a handful of awkward comments from his aunts and uncles (thankfully while David had been out of the room), but they hadn’t been rude just... _out of touch_. 

All in all, the day had been a success and a weight he hadn’t realized was _so_ heavy had largely been lifted from Patrick’s shoulders. It wasn’t completely gone though. There was, of course, the issue of Melanie who had been eyeing David with pursed lips and a raised brow all day—he really ought to have expected as much considering how close she was to Rachel. It hadn’t escaped Patrick’s notice that David had been steering clear of her, though he never mentioned why. Had she said something? Was that the reason David stiffened every time her voice carried, or why he tugged Patrick out of any room she entered? Maybe that was the reason, despite the other big and small wins of the day, that Patrick still needed the comfort of David’s presence to keep him grounded. To smooth out the residual tightness in his body, and to help him settle back into the comforting tableau that the other Brewers had laid out for him, despite Melanie’s weighty judgement. 

He was gently scratching the back of David’s neck and laughing at Allison’s story about a spry old resident at the retirement home she nursed at, when a few things happened to put Melanie completely out of his mind.

First, Brad and Kate’s four-year-old son, Samson, wandered tiredly up from the yard and practically climbed up into Patrick’s lap. The child’s presence had the expected effect on David, who inched away from them both just slightly, completely unsure what to do with a child so close to one of his designer knits. Patrick chuckled at him while pulling away from David to rock his nephew gently against his chest. Later he would wish he hadn’t moved at all.

Second, Hallie slipped through the sliding patio door, followed by Aunt Marge and Marcy.

“All I’m saying,” Hallie was huffing, “is that just because I hit the Brewer twin lottery doesn’t mean they’re gonna be boys. There’s still a chance you’ll have granddaughters yet, Marge!”

Marge sighed, “Everyone else has stopped having kids, you’re the only hope this family has of getting some girls around here!”

A look of discomfort, and maybe a touch of sadness, flashed across Marcy’s face as she caught sight of Patrick with Samson drifting off to sleep in his lap and David leaning away from them both. Beside him, David shifted uncomfortably, clearly having caught the look too. His mom was well aware of their plans not to have kids.

Brad gave a big belly laugh, and Patrick tried to communicate a single word through his eyes alone— _DON’T—_ but Brad didn’t see it.

“Jeeze, Mom! What’re Patrick and David, chopped liver?”

David froze completely, his eyebrows high and his jaw clenched painfully tight. Patrick could see his neck tensing and turning red. To Brad’s credit, he instantly realized he’d misspoken and shot an apologetic look his and David’s way. That did nothing to stop Marge though.

“Oh well, of course! There I go, putting my foot in my mouth! Are you two planning to adopt after the wedding?”

“Not…” David’s mouth opened and closed for a second like a fish out of water. “Not exactly...no…”

“One of the paralegals from Richard’s office went through a surrogate, you know. Very modern. Have you boys looked into that?”

“Uh…” was all Patrick’s brain could muster in the moment. _Just say we’re not having kids_ , a more coherent corner of his mind pleaded, but it was like his mouth had stopped working completely.

Marcy’s eyes flickered between his face and David’s for a hot second before she snapped to attention and gave Marge’s elbow a tug.

“Oh that’s enough of the third degree, Marge. They’re not even down the aisle yet, let them be.”

“All right, all right, but your parents aren’t getting any younger and neither are you two!” She looked pointedly at Patrick even as Marcy was pulling her back into the house. “Better give them those grandbabies sooner rather than later!”

A very uncomfortable silence was left in their wake, with all eyes on Patrick and David. 

David was staring down at Samson curled comfortably in Patrick’s lap as if seeing him there for the first time. He gave his head a little shake and cleared his throat, letting out a stilted and humourless laugh. “Well...hmm. That was–”

As if by the grace of all that was good, his cell phone (which had been sitting on the patio table in front of them) buzzed loudly, making everyone jump. Patrick saw Stevie’s name flash across the screen with a text. David snatched it up and stood.

“Excuse me, I just have to...I’ll be right back.”

He escaped down the deck steps and turned around the side of the house toward the driveway.

Hallie lowered herself down onto the swing and put two hands around Samson’s ears.

“Did I fuck up or did Brad?”

Kate, Allison, and Aiden responded in unison. “Definitely Brad.”

“Hey!”

Patrick tilted his head back and groaned. It had been going so well.

* * *

“You don’t have to have kids just because a mouthy Boomer drank too much wine and got into your business, David.”

Having Stevie on the phone was almost as good as having her here beside him. Even if she was a troll.

“Obviously,” he snapped back. “It’s just…”

“What, are you suddenly feeling all paternal now that you’re surrounded by procreating Irish-Canadians who genuinely like children?”

“Ew, no. It’s just that it comes so naturally to Patrick. Like, he knows how to play with them, and one of the really small ones just like _napped_ on him as if it was nothing! What if this whole time, he’s just been saying he doesn’t want kids because _I_ don’t want kids? What if–”

“Stop! Stop it. If he wanted kids, he’d have told you he wanted kids.”

The minute she said it, he instantly thought of the other two really big things Patrick had neglected to share with David over the last two years. God, why wasn’t he over that? He really should be by now!

“Would he though?” David’s voice sounded pathetically small and uncertain to his own ears.

Stevie sighed. He heard a few clumsy attempts at igniting a lighter on the other end of the line, followed by a long inhale.

“Excuse you, are you smoking that joint without me? While I’m miles away and in pain?!”

The text she’d sent that he’d used as an SOS had been a single photo of a tightly rolled joint held up outside of the door to room three. People really needed to keep better track of their drugs.

“This is a really emotional conversation and I needed reinforcements,” she weezed and coughed out, and David decided that he actually hated Stevie more than anything.

“Well at least tell me what I’m supposed to do before the Judas grass kicks in!”

“Oh my god, _talk to Patrick._ And ignore his Chatty Cathy aunt. And if that fails, do what I do whenever I get stuck in awkward conversations at family get-togethers.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Steal a bottle of whiskey and go make out with a cousin’s boyfriend behind the Wal-Mart.”

Her deadpan delivery made him want to laugh and cry in equal measure. Jesus, he really was a mess.

“Have I ever told you how classy you are? Honestly, someone needs to name the wing of a museum after you or something.”

“Talk to Patrick, David. And don’t agree to parenting a child. I don’t need that in my life.”

She hung up the phone. 

“David?”

David looked back to the house from where he was sitting against the bumper of Patrick’s car. Clint was leaning out of the front door.

“Dinner’s ready, son.”

* * *

Where lunch had been a far less formal affair (grab a plate and eat where you want), Thanksgiving dinner was straight out of a movie with the adults crammed around the dinner table and the kids sequestered to a folding kiddie table crammed in the corner of the very full room. Clint gave Patrick the job of carving the turkey (which was apparently a very big deal and strangely emotional), but before everyone could load their plates Marcy insisted they go around and share one thing everyone was thankful for—clearly an annual tradition.

David felt his lungs tighten with the surge of anxiety as Patrick’s Aunt Liz started them off. It had been a very long day, and he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Patrick before being herded to his spot at the table. And there he was, sitting at David’s side casting worried glances his way every two seconds, like he was afraid David was going to make a run for it—which he kind of really wished he could do. Except he’d _told_ Patrick that he didn’t need to worry about David today, which clearly hadn’t worked. And _now_ he had to come up with something to say in front of one half of the table that had witnessed him bolt from the run-in with Marge, and the other half that was no less interested to hear what he had to be thankful for, and all eyes were about to be on him. He rubbed his sweating palms against his thighs. 

What was Marcy thinking after the incident? Did she harbour feelings about never becoming a grandmother at the hands of her future son-in-law? Surely _that_ wasn’t something she was thankful for this year. She probably hadn’t been considering her grandchildless future when she’d called him family so generously that morning. He tried to calm his beating heart, breathing through his nose as one-by-one the family gave a mix of heartfelt and garden variety answers. 

Patrick gave his thigh a squeeze under the table before holding his gross and sweaty hand firmly.

“You alright?” he asked softly, for only David to hear.

“Mhmm,” he all but squeaked.

It was Hallie’s turn next. 

“I’m thankful that I only have one more month of being _very_ pregnant,” she huffed to laughter and _here-here’s_ from the others.

And then all eyes were on David. Shit, he should have spent the last few minutes actually coming up with something to say instead of just worrying over saying something at all.

“I uh…” Patrick let go of his hand to wind an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. David barrelled forward, hands shoved between his knees to keep them from knocking over a wine glass or making him look like an idiot, “I guess I’m thankful for the um...warm welcome you’ve all given Patrick and I today. It’s been really, uh. Good...nice. Really nice. So thank you.”

He risked reaching out to raise a shaking glass to Marcy and Clint, and everyone joined in the cheers though Melanie’s was notably stiff.

Patrick squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll have to second that. But most of all I’m thankful that this time next year, I’ll be married to the love of my life and that he even agreed to it in the first place.”

The room laughed and David could feel his face flushing, a tight lipped smile tugging at the side of his mouth just for Patrick. Was it his way of dismissing Marge’s talk about grandkids? Maybe. From across the table, Marcy looked on teary-eyed and even Clint looked a little choked up. Beside him, Hallie gave David’s arm a gentle squeeze. But then Patrick’s cousin Brandon was saying something about the Leafs making the playoffs and the moment had passed.

But the anxiety (ever present and somehow steadily growing) still sat heavy in David’s chest.

And then all at once everyone was loading their plates, and David couldn’t help but shrink a little at the chaos of dishes being passed around, wine being poured, and children popping up at their parent’s elbows to groan at the amount of vegetables piled onto their plates. Like the night before, David found he had no real appetite. He wanted it, god this was like a Hallmark movie holiday feast dream, but his mouth felt thick and his stomach flipped unpleasantly. Patrick eyed his rather sparse plate with concern.

Again he leaned in to speak so only David could hear, “It’s okay if you’re not hungry, but you’ve barely eaten anything in two days. You look pale, are you feeling okay?”

David grimaced. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Maybe I should stop drinking wine though.”

He swapped out his glass of cab sauv with Patrick’s water, and took a long sip. 

Just a few more hours, and it would be over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all get an extra long Chapter 6 because I love you. But also because I couldn't figure out where to split it up before I remembered: I MAKE THE RULES. So here it is. We're almost doooooooooone.

**CHAPTER 6**

When Aunt Diane and Uncle Bill _finally_ left, it was after 8:30 and Patrick was itching to get David alone, but the other man almost immediately excused himself to take a shower before bed. They hadn’t had a chance to talk at all after dinner and Patrick was dreading the conversation. He knew exactly what was going on in that whirlwind raging through David’s mind, and he hated that he hadn’t been able to stop the spiral head-on.

Patrick should have known his pointed affirmations earlier in the morning wouldn’t be enough to carry David through the chaos of the day. And it certainly hadn’t been enough for only Patrick to lean on David for support. They should have been leaning on each other and so far Patrick felt like he’d been doing a pretty miserable job of providing that. He should have made more of an effort to get David alone to talk once it became clear things were piling on. When it was obvious Melanie had said or done something earlier in the day, and certainly after Marge had thrown in her two cents.

“Is he alright?” his mom asked, worried eyes flicking in the direction of the stairs.

She must have found the time to explain what had happened with Marge to Clint because Patrick’s dad was frowning knowingly.

“Margery has never been known for her subtlety,” he grimaced.

“It’s been a long day, I’m sure he’s just tired.” Patrick lied, propping his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. He had to get one thing out of the way before he headed upstairs. “About what Aunt Marge said. You guys know that the whole kids decision is mine too, right?”

His parents shared a look.

“What do you mean?” his dad asked slowly. 

“I mean, David doesn’t want to have children but neither do I. I like our life the way it is, and I don’t feel the need to add another person to the mix.”

His mom hesitated before speaking. “We just thought...well, with Rachel…”

“It never really felt like an option when we were together. Which is just another reason why things were never going to work out between us, besides the obvious. I don’t _need_ to be a dad, but I also don’t _want_ to be one either. I love the connection I have to the boys, but being an uncle is different. And it’s enough for me. I need you to know that this isn’t something I’ve been pressured into by David. It...it might even have been a deal-breaker for me if _he’d_ wanted them.”

That was a revelation, and not one he’d ever said out loud even to David; he'd never needed to. But it was the truth. Not everyone wanted to be a parent, and it had been a great relief to discover that this was something he and David had been on exactly the same page about since day one. To know that he wasn’t expected to force himself into that particular box. That wasn’t to say Patrick didn’t like kids—he did. He was even considering coaching the Little League team next season. He just liked sending them home at the end of the day and not being responsible for them for eighteen years of their lives. He liked the autonomy of it.

He also _really_ liked the freedom of having as much sex as he wanted with David without ever running the risk of an unplanned pregnancy. But he wasn’t about to share _that_ particular detail with his parents.

“If that’s what you boys really want, we...we understand,” his mom said, still sounding a little deflated. “If you’re sure.”

“We’re sure, Mom.”

“Do us a favour though,” his dad added, clearly trying to alleviate the strain of the conversation. “Maybe get a dog or something for your mom to spoil rotten. She’s gotta put that energy _somewhere_.”

Patrick couldn’t help but chuckle tiredly as Marcy tossed a throw pillow at her husband’s head with an exaggerated scoff. Upstairs, the shower turned off and that was Patrick’s cue to make his way up to bed. They had a long drive back to Schitt’s Creek ahead of them in the morning, and if he wanted to get any sleep tonight this conversation really needed to happen now. He hugged his parents goodnight before trudging his way upstairs. 

David was in his old room already, skin pink from his shower and wet hair already starting to curl wildly. He was buttoning up the white pyjama shirt from the set he’d bought for Patrick’s house warming party so long ago, but his long fingers were trembling faintly. Patrick took over the last few buttons before leaning in for a slow kiss.

“Hey, you.”

David sighed. “Hey.”

“That was a very long day, but we survived. Thank you for being here with me to get through it.”

David pinched at the shoulders of Patrick's shirt, tilting his head back so as to not have to look him in the eye. He was still looking a little pale. “Mhmm, right but–”

“ _And_ I wanted to say that Aunt Marge has a big mouth and no business meddling in our perfectly happy, perfectly childless lives.”

David bit his lip, not looking entirely convinced. “Will you really be happy? Without all that?”

Patrick pushed him gently down onto the bed and straddled his waist, leaning down to pepper his neck with kisses. “I think I would be unhappy with it. What about you?”

He just hummed and nodded, before placing a hand against Patrick’s chest and pushing him away slightly. Patrick could practically see the gears in his head spinning into overdrive.

“But what if in a few years…?”

“To say nothing of your age—mysterious and full of youth as it remains—in a few years _I’ll_ be too old to be thinking about babies. I already get tired taking the stairs at the apartment. Can you imagine me chasing after a toddler 24/7 when I’m pushing forty?”

“Gross,” David couldn’t help but smile into Patrick’s lips.

“I’m serious David,” he pressed. “I don’t need anyone other than the two of us. I don’t _want_ to share you with anyone else, and I don’t want to be a dad. The two of us will always be enough for me.”

Patrick could tell he wasn’t one hundred percent sold, but maybe he never would be. Sometimes with David’s intrusive thoughts, it was hard to tell which ones Patrick could quell entirely and which ones were lifers. It was a constant underlying concern of Patrick’s and he made a mental note to finally broach the subject of why David got them at all after they got home, when he’d have the time and privacy to get into it. _If_ David let him.

“Honestly, though. You really did make this weekend bearable. I’m sorry if my family was a bit much.”

David narrowed his eyes. “You _have_ met my family, haven’t you?”

“You make a good point. Mathematically speaking, one Moira is equal to or greater than at least six Brewers.”

“Mhmm. You had a good time though, really? Is it good to be home?”

“This isn’t home. But it is good to be back. And yes, I had a really good time.”

Later, when they were both tucked beneath the covers with the lights off, and David’s arms and legs were octopused possessively around Patrick from behind, Patrick remembered the other thing that had been nagging him all day.

“David, did something happen with Melanie today?”

For a moment he thought David had fallen asleep but after a long pause, he answered.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

Patrick shifted so he could look over his shoulder at David. “It is a big deal if she–”

But David was nudging him back onto his side and pulling his back closer against his chest, a departure from Patrick’s usual place as the big spoon. “Nope, it’s not even worth thinking about, so let’s just forget it.”

He sounded so resolute, no hint of the uncertainty that had been cloying at him just ten minutes ago, that Patrick decided to let it drop. For now.

They settled in for sleep but Patrick could feel David’s rapidly pounding heart against his back, and he knew this wasn’t quite over no matter how hard David was trying for it to be.

* * *

When he woke up from another restless sleep the next morning, David’s whole body was buzzing unpleasantly. It was a familiar feeling, one that had once landed him on a veterinarian table with Ted cracking dog jokes to Stevie’s barely contained glee. 

More recently, and more concerningly, it had manifested itself not long after David and Patrick’s engagement announcement. Though no one knew about _that._

After the happiest day of his life had been underplayed and overshadowed by town gossip and his mother’s descent into hysteria over the cancelling of her movie, David had somehow managed to keep the attack at bay for four whole days. That was, before being set off by the most innocuous thing. All it had taken was dropping a bottle of lotion in the store for David to completely break down behind the Apothecary when he’d taken the smashed glass out to the trash. He hadn’t seen it coming, one minute his head was buzzing the way it had been for almost a day and a half, and the next minute he’d stopped breathing entirely. 

He had come to a few moments later slumped over his knees with his back against the door to the stockroom, having had completely blacked out. Patrick hadn’t seen it happen (still didn’t know it had happened, David had been too freaked out to tell _anyone_ ) and when the resulting exhaustion had immediately hit David like a freight train, Patrick sent him home for the day with concerns over a stomach bug. It hadn’t been a hard sell, David had looked and felt like shit. And when he’d slept that whole afternoon and well into the next day, Patrick had to be convinced not to close the store to bring him to the walk-in clinic in Elmdale, none-the-wiser about the true cause of David’s sudden and staggering exhaustion.

That had been two months ago, and David remembered the panic attack feeling like a painful tilting of the axis of his sanity. It had come upon the crest of an unstoppable wave that took days to build into a violent crescendo. It had been so much worse than the first time, and it fucking terrified him.

Now, he stared up at the ceiling, hands trembling at his sides and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he knew another one wasn’t far off. He should have seen it coming—shit, maybe he had and just didn’t want to acknowledge it. The insomnia these past two nights, his lack of appetite, even the whirring spin of all his insecurities going round and round inside his head, unstoppable no matter what anyone had tried to say to him. He was learning to spot the signs the hard way.

He just needed to make it home. He’d lasted a whole day longer than this the last time, after all. He and Patrick had a five-hour drive ahead of them, and if he could just sleep most of the way and find an excuse to be alone when they got home, David could manage his bullshit without casting a pall over Patrick’s memory of his first weekend back with his family.

He was so fucking close.

* * *

There was some inventory to be done at the store before they opened on Tuesday, so Patrick’s plan had always been to hit the road right after breakfast in order to give them time to get it over with that evening. Good thing too, because David was not looking well enough to have stayed the afternoon.

For the fourth meal in a row, his appetite was non-existent. And this time, after Clint had loaded everyone’s plates with a breakfast of bacon and eggs, David didn’t even pretend to try and eat any of it. Nor did he blink when Patrick had handed him a warm mug of lemon water and steeped ginger instead of a coffee. Despite all this, and despite the pallor of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes, and the non-stop jostling of his restless legs, David was still putting up an admirable front. When everyone had finished eating, he immediately offered to help Marcy with the dishes, and now there he was, standing at her side listening intently to her talk about going apple picking as a young girl every Thanksgiving weekend. And yet, Patrick could see he was threatening to tip over the edge of _something_.

If it was all a reaction to nerves, Patrick wasn’t sure how to help him. Normally he was trying to keep David from stress-eating, not starving himself. And he couldn’t remember a single morning outside of this weekend that David hadn’t slept past Patrick. Once again, he’d already been awake when Patrick had woken to the alarm he’d set for them that morning.

“I hope David’s not coming down with something,” Clint worried aloud as he helped Patrick load their bags into the trunk of the car, along with several Tupperware containers of his mom’s leftovers. “Being around those kids is always a cold or flu waiting to happen.”

Patrick hesitated—this was such a private thing that David might not want to be voiced to his future father-in-law, but if Patrick couldn’t ask his dad for help, who could he ask? 

“It’s not that. I think...I think it’s anxiety,” he bit into his bottom lip hard and glanced back at the house where he’d left David to finish cleaning up with his mom. “Did Mom tell you about the conversation they had yesterday morning?”

Clint set down David’s bag and crossed his arms, giving Patrick his full attention. “She did. I have to say, I was a little surprised. He seemed so confident the day of your party, I didn’t think we could unsettle him so easily.”

“I think the secret to understanding David is that he’s almost never _settled_. He’s a pretty high strung person in general actually, but I’ve never seen it this bad. I’m worried about him. He’s never been around a family like ours before. I think the pressure of meeting everyone and worrying about me...being cornered by Aunt Marge...Mel being, well, _Mel_ …I don’t know. I know he was trying so hard for my sake, but I think it’s really hitting him today.”

Clint frowned. “What do you mean Mel being Mel?"

"He wouldn't say, but I think she must have said something to him yesterday..."

"Hmm," his dad seemed to decide to put a pin in that for later. "Is there anything me and your mom can do for David?”

“Dad,” Patrick’s voice wavered despite himself, “I don’t even know what _I’m_ supposed to do.” 

His dad swiftly pulled him into a hug and he sank into it. “Okay, it’s okay. You just need a plan. First things first, if he isn’t being force-fed as we speak, make sure he eats something on the way home. He’s barely eaten since you boys arrived. Your mom’s sending a feast home with you, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Patrick took a step back and blinked away the unshed tears in his eyes. “And then?”

It was just like when he was a teenager, overwhelmed by homework, his part-time job, the latest drama with Rachel, and university applications. He could always depend on his dad to break everything down into manageable tasks, turning unscalable mountains into easily traversed speed bumps.

“And then you be there for him, and listen if he just needs to vent. But Patrick, if David’s really struggling that’s what doctors are for. That’s what medication is for.”

His dad had been through that, Patrick remembered. It wasn’t something he thought of often, simply because he’d been away at university at the time and hadn’t been home for the fallout. But when Patrick’s Grandpa Debeaux had passed away, his mom had taken it hard. She’d even gone on stress leave from work and had taken medication to help manage the depression that had come with the grief of losing her father. 

There had never been shame in the idea of medicating mental health in this family. But, like so many other differences between the Roses and the Brewers, the relationship that Patrick’s mom had with prescription medication was very different from the one David’s mom had. He wondered how David would react if he suggested it—knowing that he’d probably grown up feeling very differently about it, all things considered. Patrick didn’t have time to say as much though. The front door opened, and out came David and Marcy, ready to share their goodbyes.

His dad loaded the last of the stuff into the trunk and patted Patrick on the back. “Think about it, son.”

With a sigh, they both headed back up to the porch. Patrick plastered a smile on his face, and slipped an arm around David’s waist, forcing himself not to react when his fiance flinched at the sudden contact.

“Oh, my boys,” his mom was saying, bleary-eyed. “I’m so glad you could make it. I’m just sad we didn’t get more one-on-one time with the two of you.”

“We’re happy we came, Mom,” Patrick answered for them both, leaning in to give her a tight hug. “I missed you guys a lot.”

Clint squeezed David’s arm gently and said, “It was great to see you again, son. Don’t be a stranger before the wedding!” 

When Marcy opted to give David a small pat on the cheek rather than her trademark mom-hug, Patrick knew she had been clocking David’s strange mood that morning too and was being careful with him. So they were both taken aback when David took a deep breath and hesitantly wrapped his arms around her of his own accord. She accepted the awkward hug immediately.

“Thanks for having us,” David’s words were muffled by her hair.

Marcy looked at Patrick in shock and he could only smile, something like hope blooming in his chest. It was like watching a skittish cat tentatively demand a furtive pet for the first time. Patrick didn’t miss the look of soft triumph flash across his mom’s face either. 

The moment was over almost as soon as it began, and then they were packing themselves into Patrick’s car and waving a final farewell to his parents as he backed out of the driveway.

They drove in silence for a little bit, as Patrick navigated his way out of town and down the long and empty country road that led to the highway. David was looking out the window, leg bouncing, and trembling fingers twisting at his engagement rings in earnest.

“So,” Patrick hedged, briefly taking his eyes off the road to glance at David, “I’m thinking maybe the store inventory can wait. Why don’t we just stay in toni–”

He saw the blur of something bolt across the road in front of them and his body reacted much faster than his mind could. Slamming on the breaks, he sent their bodies flying forward as he reached a protective arm out across David’s chest, but he had already been stopped by the locking mechanism of his seat belt. David’s hands slapped against the dashboard, his sharp gasp ringing in Patrick’s ears. For a long, heart gripping moment, they just sat there breathing hard. Patrick gave David a once over to make sure he was okay, before looking around to see what had just run out in front of the car. In the rearview mirror he saw a grey mutt of a farm dog tearing down the ditchway behind them, unfazed and unhurt.

“It was a dog,” he laughed a little lamely through the shock. 

When David didn’t respond, Patrick turned to him and frowned. David's mouth was hanging open, his hands fluttering helplessly in front of him. He looked dazed and bewildered.

“David?”

“I can’t– I can’t–”

He was struggling to breathe. Patrick swiftly pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and put the four-ways on. Slipping out from the driver’s side, he rounded the car and opened David’s door so that he could lean over him to unbuckle his seat belt. He dragged his eyes up and down David’s body but couldn’t see any injuries. 

“What’s wrong, are you hurt?”

He gave his head a tiny, almost invisible shake as tears began to pour down his cheeks.

“I don’t...” Patrick stared at David helplessly. “Baby, I don’t know what to do…”

David was blinking rapidly and the sharp breaths from before stopped altogether. What was this? The words _anxiety attack_ floated around in his head, remembered from a not-so-funny story Stevie had once told him involving David and Ted’s vet practice.

“David? You have to breathe!” There was no sign that David had heard him though, so Patrick took a breath himself and forced his next words to sound calmer than he was actually feeling. “Breathe with me, David. In and out. In and out.”

David’s hands were now curled impossibly tight in his lap, so Patrick reached out and slowly guided one of them forward until the white knuckled fist was rested against Patrick’s chest. How long could a person go without breathing? It felt like an eternity and David’s face was turning an alarming shade of deep red, but just as Patrick thought the other man might pass out, he took one gasping breath and then another. They were harsh and uneven, but they were breaths nonetheless. The tears kept streaming, though he didn’t seem to notice them. Patrick repeated his _in and out_ mantra until David seemed to calm down in small, barely perceivable increments. First, his hand opened slightly so that he was clutching loosely at the front of Patrick’s shirt, and then his stilted rocking slowed to stillness. After what felt like forever, David was able to breathe somewhat regularly on his own. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was still shaking.

“Good, that’s good. Can you hear me, David?”

“Hmm...mhmm.”

“Okay. Do you–”

“M’gonna be sick.”

David had barely gotten the words out before he was pushing Patrick out of the way and practically falling out of the car onto his hands and knees to retch onto the grassy shoulder of the road. Patrick forced himself to move so that he could reach into the back seat where he kept a few emergency bottles of water. When he turned back to David, the other man was in the same position though nothing else came up. He hadn’t eaten enough for that.

“Hey, hey come here. You’re okay. Come here.”

Patrick gently maneuvered David into a sitting position so he could press a palm against his sweaty forehead. He opened the water bottle and pressed it into David’s gravel-caked hand.

“Drink, you need to drink. No, David please. Just a sip. That’s good. More? Just one more sip…for me. Good, good. How are you feeling?”

“Shitty…” he said barely above a whisper, as if it hurt his throat to speak.

David looked like hell, but Patrick could see that the scariest part of the panic attack seemed to be over. He was slow to move, as he looked at his dirty hands and then at Patrick as if unsure how to go about cleaning himself up. Patrick took them and gently poured what was left in the water bottle over them, and then got his own two hands a little wet too so he could caress the clammy sweat off of David’s pale face.

“Should we move back to the car, or do you want to sit here for another minute?”

“Um…” David dragged his glassy eyes in every direction but Patrick’s, though it seemed unintentional. Like his brain was reacting too sluggishly to actually focus on any one thing. “...the car.”

“Okay, David.”

Patrick practically lifted him to his feet, and brushed the dirt and gravel off David’s pants before guiding him into the passenger’s seat again. He grabbed a second bottle of water from the back and pressed it into his hands before buckling him up and closing the door. Patrick allowed himself thirty seconds to huff out a few delayed sobs into his hand before wiping at his eyes and walking back around to the driver’s side of the car. He took a breath to compose himself before getting in, finding that he was shaking almost as badly as David was. He waited for another minute or two in case David needed to throw up again before putting the car into drive, and pulling back into the road.

“So, that was a panic attack I think,” he said, keeping his tone level.

David, who was leaning his head against the window with his eyes closed, cleared his throat. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“I _was_ scared, but you don’t need to apologize. Has that kind of thing happened before?”

When Stevie had told Patrick about taking David to the vet, that hadn’t sounded nearly as gut wrenching as this. There was no way she would have found what Patrick just witnessed funny. David looked like he just wanted to curl up and fall asleep, but Patrick needed to keep him awake for just a little longer. This was not a conversation he could mentally handle putting off.

“Um…” David pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, “once or twice since moving here.” 

_Twice?_ Patrick tucked that information away for later.

“Was meeting everyone at once too overwhelming? Or...or did _I_ do something…?”

David furrowed his brow and breathed deeply through his nose, but his voice hitched slightly when he answered, “I don’t know– I didn’t mean to...I _tried_ not to…”

“Shh, okay. It’s okay. We can figure that out later. It’s just...David, I’m worried about you. I’m worried that maybe all this anxiety you try to deal with on your own, the thoughts that won’t let up in that head of yours...I’m scared that it’s making you _sick_. Have you ever been to a doctor about this?”

David’s shoulders edged up a little defensively. “Not exactly.”

Good, at least he recognized Ted’s veterinary license wouldn’t count for much with Patrick right about now.

“Will you go to one?” When he didn’t answer right away, Patrick pulled out the big guns, not having it in him to feel even remotely guilty for the pointed manipulation. “For _me_ , David?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw David finally look over at him. It was quick, and then he was looking out the window again, saying softly, “Sure. I mean, yes, okay.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

David just nodded and closed his eyes again.

“Okay. Are you tired? Why don't you get some sleep...”

It didn’t take long at all before David was out, his body virtually shutting down after going through such an intense physical blitz. Patrick wanted to hold his hand, but he suspected tactile affection would not have been welcome if David was awake. He thought back to the plan his dad had laid out for him. Patrick had had to improvise but at least there was an action for him to take once they got home. As he merged onto the highway, he mentally made a list of everything he would need to do.

  * Make David dinner (soup, maybe)
  * Book an appointment at the clinic in Elmdale
  * Ask Alexis to help out at the store tomorrow so David could stay home
  * Plan an alternative to attending the Brewer Christmas party in December 



It didn’t seem so bad when he broke it up into manageable speedbumps. Glancing at the steady rise and fall of David’s chest, Patrick added one last thing to the list.

  * Tell David he loved him every goddamn day



He would be okay. Patrick would make sure of it.

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

The pleasant smell of burning pine wood pulled David slowly out from a deep slumber, and he unwound his body underneath the heavy duvet. The room was warm despite the December chill, except for the feeling of a cold, wet snout pressed against his arm. He blinked lazily and came face-to-face with two small black eyes staring back at him from beneath a mop of caramel coloured fur.

“Who said you were allowed on the bed?” he grumbled thickly, but the little dog just tilted his head and stretched out on Patrick’s empty pillow, making himself comfortable. 

“It’s unhygienic,” David informed the animal, but the ridiculous creature just rolled over with his paws flopping above an exposed belly.

“You make a good argument, but we’re guests here so move it. Come on Bear, _off_.”

Bear sneezed once with his whole body and then finally complied, leaping off the bed but not going far. He sat on the floor and watched David expectantly.

David sat up and listened for signs of life from the rest of the cabin they’d rented for the Christmas holiday. A low hum of music carried up the stairs to the bedroom, and with it the voices of Patrick and Marcy. David glanced at his phone, it was only 8:30. With a groan, he stood up and dragged himself to the ensuite bathroom—Bear following diligently at his heels. 

“Nope, uh uh,” he stopped the dog before it could come in. “Go see your father.”

It was the kind of thing he said to Bear only when no one was around to tease him for it. Doing so had once led Alexis to say the word _furbaby_ which was enough to make David apoplectic. 

Bear simply sat and watched as David closed the door between them.

David took his time going through his morning routine, pausing only when he got to the final step. He stared at the clear weekly pillbox on the counter marked in Sharpie with the letter D, sitting next to a blue one marked with a P. Inside of Patrick’s there were only vitamins, though in the spring his allergy medication would be added to the mix. He had bought it in an unspoken display of solidarity that David found painfully heartwarming. The same vitamins could be found inside of David’s box, tucked alongside the innocuous pink alprazolam tablets. 

The pillboxes were a stark reminder of where David had been just two and a half months ago, warily resisting Patrick every step of the way through doctor appointments and, _god_ , therapy consultations. Patrick had insisted they were _not_ a scam considering David could no longer afford to pay the kind of money he’d sunk into the pandering frauds of his past. If it hadn’t been for the look of barely contained terror he’d seen in Patrick the day he’d broken down on the drive out of Watford, David might never have gone through with it at all. The instinct to bury all the big shit under layers of dramatics over the little things had been strong, but Patrick’s plea of “for me?” would always be stronger. _Always._

At any rate, here he was, and so far the day-to-day things had been... _calmer_. The alprazolam helped with that, as much as he hated the way it left him feeling groggy and confused after taking it—though he had to admit, that particular side effect had been slowly improving just like the doctor had said it would. He wondered what David from five years ago would say if he could see himself taking prescription pills as directed, and without a top shelf chaser or a bump of molly to wash it all down? Probably nothing kind…

“This is going to be a process, David,” Dr. Horowitz had reminded him during last week’s therapy session. “It’s important to be kind to yourself.” 

The pills made things calmer but David had to admit that Dr. Horowitz did the real heavy lifting. 

David looked at himself in the mirror and then back to the pillbox in his hand. 

“To kindness,” he said under his breath, toasting his reflection. 

He popped everything under Thursday into his mouth and chased it back with water from the faucet. Routine complete, he returned to the bedroom to dress. When he had changed, Bear stood to lean his tiny front paws against his shin, stretching his petite body for all it was worth. David relented and picked him up, tucking his wriggling body in the crook of one arm and marveling at how small and light the dog was despite being almost four years old.

“If you get fur all over me, we’re over,” David warned, feeling Bear’s (hypoallergenic and low-shed) tail wag tirelessly under the elbow of his sweater. “This is a Rick Owens, you know.”

Downstairs he found Patrick and Marcy drinking tea at the kitchen table. Patrick smiled up at him when David leaned down for a kiss.

“You’re up early.”

“Hmm, I have your dog to thank for that.”

He set Bear down, slightly scandalized for Patrick’s sake when the dog abandoned him completely to beeline for Marcy. She just laughed and lifted him onto her lap.

Patrick had been the one to bring up the idea of getting a dog back in November, though David hadn’t considered it too seriously at the time. With everything going on, it had seemed like just another thing to add to the already precarious pile of interruptions edging into the comfortable life they’d built for themselves up until then. For David, addressing his anxiety with professionals hadn’t felt like ripping off a bandaid so much as exposing a long-festering wound. During that first month, the act of putting that rawness out on display had initially added an unexpected tension to their relationship. Or rather, that David felt _he_ had added to it. 

Dr. Horowitz hadn’t yet given him her kindness speech at that point. 

It didn’t help that whenever Patrick had looked at him with wide-eyed concern, or praised David for each seemingly inconsequential step he’d taken forward, David had had to contend with his own immense guilt for feeling stifled by what felt like unearned compassion. It had been a lot, so the vague concept of getting a dog, a _puppy_ no less, that needed David’s love when he felt like he wasn’t giving enough of it to Patrick had felt impossible at the time.

That was, until serendipity intervened on a vendor pick-up only a few weeks later. Yvette Simmons (their alpaca yarn supplier) had mentioned in passing her need to rehome her daughter’s mature Yorkie-Shih Tzu mix. David still wasn’t sure what had made him say it, but the part of his brain that always thought of Patrick first and himself second had apparently hardwired itself to David’s mouth and he’d heard himself suggesting that they might possibly, _maybe,_ be interested.

“The new baby has a dog allergy, poor thing, or else they’d keep him,” Yvette had said, watching David tentatively reach out to pet the happy little dog in her kitchen. “He’s such a good dog. I considered keeping him myself, but a farm is no place for a little guy like Bear.”

He _had_ been little—not unlike a puppy but without the need for housetraining. And David had thought of all the energy Patrick had been putting into making David feel loved, and safe, and worthy of seeking help, even if it did feel overwhelming at times. In the moment, his own worries were inexplicably forgotten. That evening, to Patrick’s shock and delight, David had come home with the dog in his arms. It was _Patrick’s_ dog, he had gotten into the habit of insisting, even if Bear had immediately attached himself first and foremost to David, becoming his shadow at home and at the store.

“Is it easier to accept that love is unconditional when it comes from Bear, than when it comes from other people?” Dr. Horowitz had once asked shrewdly.

“Traitor,” Patrick was saying to the little dog now as Bear sat contently in Marcy’s lap. He got up from his seat and reached up to give David a quick kiss on the neck. “Merry Christmas David. Coffee?”

It would be decaf, which was counter intuitive in David’s opinion but he just nodded. “Merry Christmas.”

Patrick didn’t move immediately. Instead he ran a thumb over the soft grey leopard print of David’s sweater, with a lost look in his eye and a small smile on his lips. Then he smoothed down the fabric against David’s chest and slipped around him to fetch a mug. David just watched him curiously as he took the abandoned seat across from Marcy.

“You look very nice this morning, dear,” she said fondly, and the smile he gave her in return was shy, but genuine. 

He’d worn this outfit a hundred times—it made him feel good, confident. Wearing it now was surprisingly no different.

If anything, he felt hopeful.

* * *

Patrick kept an eye on David while he fixed the coffee, happy to see the relaxed line of his shoulders as he pulled a face when Marcy suggested she teach him how to make an apple pie that afternoon. That he was comfortable enough not to appear totally enthused by the idea was promising. True, he’d still been more reserved than usual since they’d all arrived yesterday, but Patrick didn’t get the impression he was walking on eggshells this time around. The neutral ground of the cabin had apparently been the right choice. 

That didn’t mean Patrick wasn’t watching for the signs—wasn’t dreading the moment when David stopped breathing, or the lost look in his eyes after the attack passed. The immediate trauma of witnessing the panic attack, and not knowing what to do in the moment, had initially taken a few weeks to wear off. Putting David back into a family holiday setting was bringing up some of the same feelings for Patrick now. But at least this time around they had hindsight and resources on their side. And David really did seem to be handling this visit with more ease than the last one. Having Bear was a help to them both. For David to focus on the simplistic love and needs of a dog, and for Patrick to offload some of the extra concern and care he knew he’d been laying on a little too thickly lately. 

There was the creak of a floorboard upstairs and a murmuring of voices. Patrick grabbed two more mugs and started pouring coffee just as his dad came down looking ready for the day, followed by Stevie who decidedly did not. Her long dark hair was mussed up, and she had the crocheted throw blanket from her bed wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She was no more a morning person than David was, it seemed.

“Merry Christmas everyone,” Clint said cheerily through a yawn, accepting the mug that Patrick handed him, and sneaking a festively decorated sugar cookie from the tin Marcy had brought with them.

It certainly felt festive. The owners of the cabin had offered to decorate when Patrick had booked the place for Christmas Eve through to the 27th. And while the ornaments had been on the tackier side for David’s high end taste, even he had admitted the real tree in the corner added to the cabin’s rustic charm.

Patrick passed the other two mugs to David and Stevie, who took hers gratefully to the couch so she could sit as close to the woodburning stove as possible.

When they had decided to get away for the holiday, Patrick had extended the invitation to Stevie almost immediately. She’d spent the last few Christmases either with the Roses or alone instead of with her own family. And with Johnny and Moira taking a small trip to a bed and breakfast in Elmdale, and Alexis spending the holiday with Ted’s family, he knew she wouldn’t have plans. Admittedly, as much as the invitation was genuinely given out of a desire for her not to be alone, it had also crossed his mind that David might feel better if he wasn’t so outnumbered by Brewers this time around. It was like bringing an “emotional support Stevie” whose purpose was to wind David up about nonsensical things in order to take his mind off of anything truly intrusive. 

Case and point...

“Excuse me, what is _that_ _?!_ ”

Stevie glanced around her and then down at the oversized sweater that was peeking out from under the blanket—black with an orange flame pattern. A second unconventional print, Patrick noted pleasantly.

“It’s freezing,” she replied flatly, as if that was reason enough for her to be wearing David’s clothes. 

“Um yeah, it’s December in Canada. Get your own clothes!”

“Pretty sure according to a certain deal we made, I get full access to your closet. Especially since I own said closet.”

“That deal does not extend to my suitcase when it is outside the geographical parameters of,” he shot a glance at his in-laws who were watching the exchange with looks of bemusement, and then said under his breath so fast that Patrick almost didn’t catch it, “ _theloveroom.”_

Patrick’s dad snorted and tried to cover it with a cough.

“Why don’t we go for a walk,” his mom suggested, clearly intending to save David from explaining the logistics of an agreement that involved such a room, while trying not to laugh at the scene in front of her. Bear practically leapt out of arms at the magic word. “We can eat breakfast and open gifts when we get back.”

Patrick and his dad were game, but David and Stevie stopped their bickering just long enough to look horrified at the thought of stepping out into the cold (in Stevie’s case) and intrigued at the mention of food and gifts (in David’s).

“I don’t know, Stevie might not make it with only my personal belongings to keep her warm. And one of us should really hang back in case she tries to make off with the silver.”

Patrick grinned at them both. Leave it to Stevie to force David out his shell.

“We won’t be long,” he promised, pressing a kiss to David’s forehead. “Come on, Bear! Let’s go for a walk!”

The dog was already dancing at the door impatiently. David’s attention was very suddenly on them instead of Stevie.

“Remember his coat! And Patrick, don’t forget his boots. And I packed the regular leash, not the extending one—god knows what he could get into around here.”

Patrick dutifully dressed the dog in his (black) winter gear and he zipped up his own coat, tugging his toque around his ears. Content to leave his fiance and their best friend to squabble, he followed his mom and dad out the door.

They walked down the quiet road in silence for a while, relishing in the muted quiet from last night’s snowfall. It was the first time all three of them had been alone since arriving, and after a few minutes his mom spoke up.

"David seems to be feeling better," she hedged.

“It's been tough but he's managing really well," Patrick said and then pressed on a little awkwardly. "Thanks again for meeting us halfway. I know it’s not the same as having Christmas at your place, but it means a lot that we could do this.”

“Of course,” his dad reassured him. “It might have been a little selfish on our part anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

His mom slipped an arm through his and said, “Well, with everything that’s been happening with the family, we wanted to keep you boys to ourselves for Christmas this year.”

When she had suggested that Patrick and David host Christmas instead of doing it themselves, Patrick had suspected they’d been thinking of David after he’d confided in them about what had happened. It was only after talking with Brad one evening, that he learned they had other reasons. Specifically, the falling out that had happened when they’d learned Melanie had made a point of antagonizing David at Thanksgiving. Uncle Bill and Aunt Diane were evidently trying to balance how to show their support for Patrick and his parents while at the same time supporting Brandon and his kids as the drama unfolded in their own immediate family. Things had been tense between the two families and Patrick’s parents had taken it all especially hard, making it clear that Mel was not welcome in their house for the foreseeable future. 

When Patrick had voiced some guilt at the prospect of his coming out being the catalyst for the unpleasant rift, Brad had told him in no uncertain terms that he was an idiot for thinking it. Still, it had prompted an uncomfortable discussion with David the next day about possibly needing regular visits with Dr. Horowitz himself, in order to work through his own insecurities. Turned out, it had been long overdue. 

“And anyway,” his dad was saying now, “how could we pass up a scenic Christmas like this?”

They stopped where the road turned and the trees opened up to reveal Balsam Lake, and stood there for a few minutes, reveling in the picturesque scene before them. His mom insisted on taking a few pictures of them all with her phone, prompted to head back only by Bear’s shivering barks. Taking pity on him, Patrick tucked the dog into the front of his coat for the walk back to the cabin.

Inside they found Stevie reading (still wearing David’s sweater, and now what Patrick suspected were a pair of his own thick wool socks) with David laying on the couch beside her with his eyes closed and his head on her lap. Patrick caught Stevie’s eye as they all hung up their coats and she silently pointed to David, making a _comme ci, comme ça_ gesture with her hand—indicating that he’d spent the last hour feeling off from his medication. Then she poked at his shoulder, rolling her eyes when he squawked indignantly and glared up at her.

“Do you want presents or not?” She asked.

When he just blinked at her for a moment not fully understanding—pushing through the alprazolam fog—she simply poked him again and repeated her question.

“Obviously,” was his cool reply as he sat up, pausing to re-adjust the blanket on her lap that he’d disturbed.

Patrick marvelled at them for a minute; at the foreign love language they spoke only to each other. Both, with their uncanny ability to be both snide and understanding from one breath to the next and never misunderstanding the other’s true meaning. How Stevie was able to put David at ease while at the same time needling him relentlessly was a mystery. Patrick took a seat on David’s other side, and pulled him close. He settled in without hesitation, as Stevie twisted around so she could tuck her cold feet under David’s leg. 

“Feeling okay?” he asked quietly while everyone was getting settled.

“Mhmm, better now that you’re here.”

Patrick kissed his temple and squeezed him a little tighter, warmed by the fact that David wasn’t pulling away like he so often did when his meds left him feeling groggy. When everyone was seated, Patrick finally looked to see whose names were on which boxes under the tree.

“There are an awful lot of presents for Bear under here,” he said slowly through a barely contained grin. “Someone has been spoiling my dog.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” both his mom and David said at the same time.

They caught each other’s eye and laughed.

Patrick inhaled contentedly and leaned into the soothing rumble of David’s laughter against his chest. From his spot beside the tree, his dad quirked an eyebrow at his mom and simply mouthed _I told you so._

* * *

The air was crisp in a way that reminded David of winters spent in Aspen chalets, and he could see each breath crystalized in front of him and Patrick as they walked. He wrapped an arm around Patrick’s, their joined hands tucked into the pocket of David’s coat. Ahead of them, Bear pranced through snow banks three times his height, ecstatic to be out for the evening stroll.

The day had been good—surprisingly good. Things had felt lighter with Patrick’s parents, and the mild strain that had been pulling at Patrick and David since October had felt eased. He’d expected it to be harder than this, had second and third guessed at the feeling all day, but it wasn’t as painful or as dire as Thanksgiving had felt. It was better.

Or it was getting better at least.

Their boots crunched against the freshly fallen snow, and David considered what a future might look like with himself and the Brewer family. Maybe if they did smaller visits like these with the cousins, the big family get-togethers would be less overwhelming? Hallie and Marcus had recently invited them down to meet Aliza and Merigold. Patrick had stalled for David’s sake, but maybe that would be a good start? Even if it did involve babies… 

He was about to suggest it when Patrick stopped in his tracks. David turned to see what he was looking at and inhaled sharply. Ahead of them the snow covered trees had given way to reveal Balsam Lake, a thick sheet of untouched ice stretching out to Grand Island, sitting white and pristine at its center. In the distance, the sun was setting, casting the sky in purples and pinks. The rich colours, along with the wispy clouds rippling out overhead were mirrored perfectly on the flat surface of the ice. From the rocky ledge on which they stood, framed by balsam firs, David felt like they were standing on the edge of the world.

“It’s gorgeous,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, but he was looking up at David with pink cheeks and a look in his eyes that said _I love you_ a thousand different ways without a word. “It really is.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that kudosed, bookmarked, and especially commented on this fic! You're all responsible for like 80% of my Covid lockdown dopamine, and you inspire me to keep writing new stories! Thanks for sticking with it and I hope you enjoyed the final chapter.


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